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be happy to run them,” I told her, “but, please consider, if you think there was someone—”
    â€œI don’t think there was
someone
in there with me!”
E shouted at me. This was a day of firsts: her first phone call to me, her first request for my help, and the first time I heard her raise her voice.
    Stunned by her outburst, I said, “Well, let’s start by running a CAT scan.”
    With the help of Wainscott, we ran all the tests that we could that day. We did the CAT scan, and then, when that showed nothing, followed it up with an MRI to confirm that there was no tumor in E’s brain. E reported that she hadn’t had any recent morning headaches, vomiting, exceptional lack of coordination, or any other symptoms that might accompany a tumor, so I told her that I felt we could safely dismiss that possibility.
    Jokingly, I told her, “Well, you have had a sudden change in personality, so maybe we shouldn’t be so hasty.”
    She looked at me in a quizzical way, not getting my joke, and asked, “What do you mean? How do I seem different?” She seemed unusually worried about this. Her reaction struck me as interesting, since she had never before seemed concerned what I or anyone else thought of her.
    â€œYou’re being friendly with me,” I said.
    â€œOh,” E replied, patting me gently on the shoulder.
    To exclude the possibility that E was embarking upon another course of encephalitis, we did an EEG and, covering all our bases, a tomographic scan to rule out a cerebral hematoma. Test after test came back normal. Once we had worked our way through the more insidious options, I examined E for signs of ordinary flu, infection, and allergy, anything that could possibly cause her to hallucinate. We examined the possibility of drug interactions with no luck.
A hospital psychologist interviewed E for signs of psychosis. By the time we were finished, I was certain that, while E still had persistent traces of her current illnesses that we already knew about (including her latest Raynaud’s phenomenon prognosis from Wainscott), there was nothing physical impairing her brain.
    The sun was starting to set, and I told E that I’d give her a ride back to the infirmary. She was getting dressed behind the curtain. After a period of silence in which I debated whether or not I should push even farther, I finally decided to ask, “Is it possible that someone’s stalking you?”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” E asked.
    â€œIt seems as if there’s something very personal about what happened to you last night.” I wanted her to know that I was on her side no matter what, as I felt a new bond being constructed between us. “I believe you. Whatever it is, I believe you.”
    E appeared from behind the curtain, dressed in jeans and a sweater. She looked so exhausted from the tests that I motioned to a passing nurse for a wheelchair. “You know how I said that the stranger’s hand was see-through, like a ghost’s?”
    â€œYes,” I said.
    â€œI think I’ve started seeing ghosts,” she told me.
    I was trapped. I had told her that no matter what she believed, I would believe it, too, and I knew that showing any skepticism about her confession would corrupt the ground that we had broken that day. So, while I may have chosen to be less honest with E at first, my lie forced me to continue the deception until, ultimately, I discovered it was no longer needed.
    â€œWhy would you think that you suddenly have the ability to see ghosts?” I asked her, looking out the window so that she couldn’t see the fraud in my eyes.
    â€œBecause I was supposed to all along,” E sighed, then finally told me the family history that I had never thought to uncover.

Chapter 6
    Paxil CR: Get back to being you
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    The day after I heard you, the door to the infirmary opened at the crack of dawn. I saw two men. They